Worthless
by Kal-El Fornia
Summary: He may have been born Casteless, supposedly rejected by the Stone, but with each and every step that he had taken to rage against the Blight, he thought that perhaps, just maybe, that the Ancestors had watched him with approval.


I wrote this like a year ago, but only just found it when cleaning out my files. I figured it was worth a polish and an upload.

Quote of the day:

**Proving Master**: This man is not a Warrior! They are Casteless! Rejected by the Ancestors! His very footsteps pollute the stone! He has no place here!  
><strong>Duncan<strong>: ...except as your Champion.

_**-Dragon Age: Origins**_

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><p>The rest of the world became silent as Roca Brosca stared on at the incapacitated Archdemon, all the while knowing what he would have to do. He had never understood it before the moment where he and Urthemiel met eyes, but Roca finally felt it inside of himself, felt the beating hearts of every Dwarf who had ever stood proudly as a guardian against the Darkness, and he knew at that moment that the Paragons were with him. He may have been born Casteless, supposedly rejected by the Stone, but with each and every step that he had taken to rage against the Blight, he thought that perhaps, just maybe, that the Ancestors had watched him with approval.<p>

It was a moment that he had never forgotten, when he had stumbled upon the lyrium addled Dwarf named Ruck when he had gone to the Deep Roads in search of Branka. Ruck had felt the Taint within him, the corruption that the both of them shared with the darkspawn, and what Ruck had done after the Warden explained that their Taints were different had changed something within Roca that day. When Roca had explained that he was Tainted because he was a Grey Warden, Ruck had stared at him for a moment before he bowed his head in reverence and replied, "Grey like the Stone, guardian against the Darkness". He had been bitter having to go back to Orzammar to walk the same streets as the people who had spent their lives spitting on him, he had been bitter about what he had been forced to do to Leske back in Jarvia's hideout, but when he had left the Deep Roads with a Paragon's crown to name Bhelen King of the Dwarves, all he could think about was Ruck, and striving to be worthy of the reverence that the addled Dwarf had shown him.

He had been a killer for Beraht, he had murdered innocents for the man and had even been grateful for it as the crime boss sent him off to do jobs too dangerous for himself, and had sent his sister Rica to go and spread her legs for a Nobleman. As he continued to watch the Archdemon, the creature that was his to destroy by duty, no matter the cost, he wondered about the people he had killed for Beraht, and wondered on just what they would think about their murderer trying to save the world. Roca couldn't help but close his eyes at the shame of it all. Would they view their deaths as part of a grand story, where an awful man would go off and show that perhaps there was some good in him after all? Would they be bitter at the fact that someone who had caused them such harm had finally decided to play the part of hero? Would they be at peace, knowing that such a thing as the Archdemon was finally dead, no matter who killed it? Roca didn't quite know the answer to any of his questions, but he supposed that it wouldn't be long before he would get the chance to finally ask them.

Riordan had asked for the duty to sacrifice his life in turn for the Archdemon's, for this dark being whom the Mages once worshiped as Urthemiel, and as Roca thought upon the dragon's twisted and broken wings, and on the only man he thought had both the skill and courage to do such a thing to the wicked beast before him, he realized that Riordan had indeed sacrificed his life, but in the end that it hadn't been enough. He thought of the King that had once been his friend, of Alistair whose duty was to now lead his nation out of the ashes, this Ferelden that Roca had oddly enough become quite fond of in his journey, and he thought of Loghain, the man he had wanted to kill for so long, the traitor without honor, the Kingslayer, and the man who despite it all being true, had been spared at Roca's command, the old general taking the Taint within himself, becoming a guardian against the Darkness.

King Alistair had raged against the idea, had threatened and proclaimed and had eventually left their order because of it, all the while Anora and Riordan had expressed their relief, a seasoned general like Loghain being a powerful asset against the Archdemon. That wasn't why he had done it though, why he had spared the man who nearly destroyed their order and had hunted them down like dogs. All that the Warden could think of back then when he used his war ax to bring Loghain to his knees was just how could he kill the man, when even someone like Roca himself had been given a chance at redemption?

He opened his eyes then, the screaming and the burning of Denerim ringing in his ears, the Casteless Dwarf knowing what he had to do, but more importantly, why he had to do it. He thought of his friends, of Sten and Alistair, Leliana, Zevran, Oghren, Shale, and Wynne. He thought of his sister Rica and her babe Prince Endrin, and surprisingly enough, he even thought of his mother. He thought of Duncan, the man who saved his life, and he thought of Riordan too, who was the reason he even had a chance to save this world. He thought of the werewolves who he helped find justice against the Dalish, and he thought of the mages he helped save, and the struggles that both groups were sure to face in the future. He thought of Morrigan, his love, and the offer he declined out of duty, even if it broke both of their hearts. Lastly, he thought of his people, of the brand that marked all of their faces, and he thought of the fact that at least now, with what he was about to do, that perhaps the world could finally see the value of a duster.

And so, as he and Urthemiel stared on at one another, he knew that this was the moment where he would be forever immortalized in song and story, that this would be the sacrifice that would be the reason that the Assembly would name him Paragon over, but oddly enough, none of that mattered to Roca. All he could think about were all the lives that were now in the hands of a duster, and of every fellow Casteless that would forever remember the moment where the worst of them proved that they weren't worthless.

Roca couldn't help but smile as he grabbed the nearest great sword, and ran towards his death.

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><p>Well, I'll see you later! Leave me feedback if you want to!<p> 


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